


In an Ideal World

by Rising_Phoenix



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Canon Gay Relationship, Established Relationship, Gay Male Character, Hurt/Comfort, Joe and Nicky own a house, M/M, movieverse, recovering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26160316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rising_Phoenix/pseuds/Rising_Phoenix
Summary: Joe and Nicky recovering together from their time in Merrick's lab...even after 921 years, it never gets easier...
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 20
Kudos: 237





	In an Ideal World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hanniXwill1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanniXwill1/gifts).



Nile had been surprised when Andy had not driven them to another safe house, even if she had first assumed that the house outside of London she had directly driven to was a safe house, but it was not. Instead, Booker had slipped from the backseat and let Nicky out, while Joe was getting up from the seat next to Andy.

“We meet tomorrow,” Andy had only said, eyes shortly on Booker and then on Nicky and Joe.

Joe had looked like he wanted to say something, while Nicky pulled Andy into a tight hug, eyes shut and a hand on the back of her neck, as if he wanted to make sure that she was still there, still with them. He nodded when Andy parted from him, her smile on the helpless side. Nile, still sitting on her side of the backseat, had watched their silent exchange of touches and looks with curiosity, but even more curiosity was directed at the house that was behind them.

It was a gorgeous cottage like she had only seen them so far from movies or magazines, old stone and a façade covered partially in ivy, blooming flowerbeds. A romantic, place that looked like...a home.

Nile frowned.

A frown that grew deeper when she watched Andy get back into the car behind the steering wheel and Booker taking now the place next to her.

“Are they...what is this place?” Nile asked when Andy started the Audi and steered it out of the cobblestone path that had lead to the small house. When she turned her head, she saw how Joe and Nicky were still standing at the side of the path, Joe’s hand on Nicky’s back, who waved shortly before they turned away and opened the small gate to the garden.

“It’s their place,” Booker said.

“Their place?” Nile asked. “You have your own places?”

“What did you think? That we live only in abandoned churches or mines?” Andy asked with a smile. “We can’t stay for many years in one place, but a feeling of home is sometimes a nice thing. Joe and Nicky have gotten this, when was it, Book?”

“Three years ago, after the job in Uganda,” he replied.

“Ah, yes,” Andy gave back.

Nile turned her head further and took a last look at the house before they took the next corner and it got out of her sight.

“It’s a nice place,” she whispered.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Joe had gotten the spare key they had buried in a small box in one of the flower beds at the side of the house and let them in. It had been a few months since they had last been here, and still this house felt more like home then most of the houses they had owned in the past nine hundred years. They had taken good care of making this house that had been freshly renovated when they had purchased it the home they both were longing for, a place where they could forget their job and the danger that came with it.

They had gotten a nice mix of modern and antique furniture, had brought a few of the pieces into this house that were memorabilia to their long lives. Weapons they had used over the past centuries and that were now more decoration than tools, swords and daggers, a few tahtib sticks, and many of his sketchbooks that he had filled with impressions of where they had traveled and what they had seen, not to forget the many sketches he had made of his family, especially of Nicky in every aspect of their lives possible. He had insisted to put a few of his drawings at the walls and time had faded some of those sketches in a way that made them look like expensive drawings they had bought in an auction. Not that they were not valuable to them, they were the most precious thing that they owned as far as Joe was concerned.

While Nicky sat down on an armchair, burying his head in his hands, not moving a single muscle otherwise, Joe went to open the windows and let fresh air in, and soon the cold morning light and a breeze filled the room.

Joe looked at the man he loved from the window he had opened last, seeing the tiredness in every of Nicky’s bones, seeing that he had reached a point where he was close to breaking, just like himself.

With a few steps, he was close and put a hand onto Nicky’s shoulder, making him look up. Those clear green eyes that had already fascinated him before they met when Nicky had only been a figure in his recurring dreams, were filled with sadness and he looked like he was holding tears barely back.

“Do you want me to draw a bath for you?” Joe asked, his fingers moving over Nicky’s muscle, but the Italian shook his head.

“A shower will do,” he replied. “I would only sit in the dirty water, but you should go first. I will take longer with...,” he continued, and then touched the back of his head where his hair was now crusted with dried blood and parts of his own brain and skull from where Keane’s bullet had left his head.

Joe gave a nod and then went, without another word, upstairs and into the bathroom, taking a few towels from the closet in the hallway and then turning the shower on, letting the bathroom be clouded with steam within seconds, while he was pulling the dirty clothes off his body.

The heat of the water hit him for a moment like a sharp dagger, but then he leaned his head against the cream-colored tiles and closed his eyes, arms hanging at his sides and hands balled into fists.

_"Destati. Nicolò, Destati.”_

He had not been sure if Nicky was breathing after the gas attack. He felt nauseous himself, coughing still and fighting for air. But nothing could be as important as knowing whether Nicky was okay. He needed to know, and he did not care if he was beaten, hurt or gassed again. He had sent silent prayers to whatever higher being was responsible for the insanity that was their life, desperation in his voice. And when there had been a reply, finally, after too long seconds.

_“Sono qui. Sono qui.”_

A breath of relief had left him when Nicky had breathed, had spoken, weak still, and obviously in pain. But he had survived, had either been unconscious or had come back to him again. And the love he again felt for the man who had never left his side since the day they met, overflowed him, not knowing what the future hours, days would bring.

Joe put shampoo on his hand and rubbed it into his wet hair, tangling his curls and filling the room with the scent of sandalwood and vanilla, scents that Nicky had always liked on him, telling him they reminded him of the desert, and Joe had to smile at the thought.

_“He thinks you’re a mouse, Nicky.”_

Oh, how he had wanted to make Nicky smile, to take the edge of this situation, them facing what they feared most, being captivated, held prisoner to become lab mice for a man who wanted nothing but profit from their skin, blood and bones. He had hoped to make Nicky smile with his words, maybe chuckled at his silliness, but Nicky had been tense and his eyes filled with hate after just having witnessed how Joe had been stabbed and stabbed again, never able to bear seeing the love of his life hurt and made bleed. He knew if let loose, Nicky would have gone after Merrick without hesitation.

_“Bedhead?”_

The burst of happiness that he had felt when Nicky had laughed, even snorted out that adorable sound that showed real amusement, made him almost forget for a moment that they had been in a situation without hope for rescue, unsure if Booker had made it, if Andy and Nile had a trace to follow a lead to find them before they had been cut into pieces, dissected, vivisected. He had tried to not show it, but the thought of having to see how Nicky was not only tortured and hurt, he had witnessed that too many times already, had clouded his senses, made him feel sick and the fear of hearing once again Nicky’s screams in pain made him want to throw up.

He rinsed his hair and looked down, seeing how suds of foam swirled around his feet before disappearing in the drain. Hot water cascaded down his back, easing the tense muscles that still were in fight mode, still having him ready to attack and defend, but damn, he felt so tired, he felt so exhausted. Joe raised his hands and put them flat against the tiled wall, looking for leverage when his knees wanted to give in. He wanted to curl up into a ball on the floor, let the water run over him until there were no more tears in him, but Nicky would always know if he had cried, and he needed to be strong today for Nicky. He had to be the one to guide him and be his strength and confidant, even if he felt weak himself.

With a sigh and a deep breath, he left the shower, grabbing one of the fluffy and soft towels he had readied and found Nicky sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, looking at his own, still bloody hands while he wrapped the towel around his waist.

“Habibi?” He whispered and made Nicky look up.

The mesmerizing eyes of his partner looked sad and broken, filled to the brim with wetness but not allowing himself to let those tears run freely, just like he did not allow that weakness for himself. A thousand years of age and still idiots about expressing their feelings. He heard Nicky breathe and then the man he loved nodded once.

“I’m good,” Nicky said, his voice not much more than a hoarse whisper.

“You’ve always been a terrible liar,” Joe said, forcing his mouth into a smile. “You’re not good. We bot are not.”

Nicky’s lips twitched into a short smile.

“You know me too well,” he gave back and watched how Joe dried himself with a second towel.

“Do you want to eat something?”

Nicky shook his head.

“I don’t think we have anything in the house to be honest,” Nicky replied, now getting up and starting to wash the blood from his hands, watching the water turn dark within seconds. His own blood, Andy’s, Joe’s, maybe Nile’s and Booker’s too, that of the men who tried to kill them and stop them from leaving. “I honestly only want to get clean and then sleep for the rest of the century.”

Joe behind him chuckled and when he looked up, he saw how Joe had gotten closer to him, leaning into his personal space from behind and now pressed a kiss to his neck. Their eyes met in the mirror above the sink and they needed no words to know what both were thinking.

After Joe had left the bathroom, Nicky got out of his dirty clothes, making a mental note to burn them tomorrow together with the clothes that Joe had dropped to the floor, messy as always. There was no saving them with all the bullet holes and bloodstains on them anyway.

Turning the water back on, not as hot as Joe liked it, Nicky stepped under the spray, looking down and watching immediately the shower floor fill with bloody water, chunks of dried blood, chunks of other parts of his own body rinsing away. Nicky shuddered and felt how his whole body convulsed in the sobs that now left him. That was his brain that he was washing out of his hair, his own brain, his own bones, his own blood. And still, his heart was still beating strong and steady. For how much longer would he be able to survive these onslaughts?

_“We killed each other.”_

_“Many times.”_

Joe had chuckled, as had Booker and Andy. But the smile on Nicky’s face had been frozen. He did not like the memory of his sword cutting into Joe’s body, his dagger cutting his throat, of the rock he had finally picked up and crushed the skull of the man he would soon love, feral, without understanding what was going on, why the Saracen would not die, why he would not die either, maybe a demon, maybe the devil himself, but when he had been lying on the battlefield, surrounded by the dead, and looked up into the black eyes of the other knight who was offering him a hand, he had known that he had found an angel. He hated the thought that he had been one of the many men and women who had taken Joe’s life, and it was a pang of guilt he could barely carry on his shoulders.

_“I prefer my evidence to be indisputable.”_

He had wanted to kill Merrick with his bare hands when he had used the letter opener to stab Joe, again and again, the pain of his husband present and harsh, as if he was able to feel it like physical pain himself. He had tried to get out of reach of the men holding him back, his instinct to protect Joe strong, not willing to consider the thought that it could end like this. That the smallest wound could possibly be the cause of their last death. Not like this, not stabbed by a boy in a position of power who only thought about profit. And then they had injected something into their bodies, had them made pass out, and dragged them to a laboratory, which was to be their home for the foreseeable future. He had pretended to be strong and unmoved while Dr. Kozak started to take samples of his tissue, his flesh, his skin, his organs, while Joe next to him remained unconscious. He felt that Joe was dead, that there was no life in him, and it took too long for him to come back and part of him panicked silently. He knew that the moment the Doctor would leave them he would yell and beg and pray for Joe to come back to him, to not leave him now and here behind, on his own, knowing that if Joe left him the last will to fight in him would leave with him.

But then Joe came back with a gasp, staring at Nicky, then staring again as if to make sure that Nicky was really there, really alive with him.

_“As much as I love watching you sleep, I’m glad you’re awake.”_

How true those words were. He never grew tired of the man sleeping in his arms, wrapped around him usually, protective and protected. But looking into those beautiful black eyes, filled with love and gentleness, with the soul of a poet and artist as much as that of a warrior and knight, never would stop making him happy. His beautiful angel. How much he had wanted to reach out for him, to hold his hand and reassure himself and Joe as well that they were one, that they were there for each other and never would be without the other’s breath.

Nicky tried to stop the tears that were flowing now, unable to succeed. All the battles they won, all the times they had cheated death, and the fight against his tears was the one he was losing. He knew that Joe would look at him for one second and knew that he had cried, that he had not been strong enough this time, and he also knew that Joe would not mind. Maybe he would smile softly, maybe he would try to distract him with a joke, but Joe would never make him feel bad about his softness.

He washed his hair three times before no more blood was left and he felt at least physically clean, left the shower, and smiled at the teal-colored bathrobe, as fluffy and soft as the expensive towels that Joe had insisted on buying, that was waiting for him. Quickly drying himself, he slipped into the robe and only shortly looked at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was sticking into every direction from rubbing it dry, and his eyes were still red and shining in wetness. The sadness and devastation, the lingering shock of the last hours were clearly visible, and there was no use hiding any of his emotions from Joe anyway.

Barefoot and slowly, he made his way to the bedroom that was facing the garden and was met with a freshly made bed and Joe standing by the window, looking outside. It was still early, and the afternoon sun was dipping everything in a slightly golden light.

When Joe noticed him, he turned around and smiled gently at him with a warmth that filled his heart immediately. He remembered the man who had loved him for the first time in that tavern room, knowing he would leave him the next day, and then everything had changed when Nicky had realized that a life without Joe was maybe possible, but not worth living and had not boarded the ship the next morning. Instead, they had spent every single day for 921 years together, and he never got bored, never got tired of seeing him every of those days. He never understood those couple he read about in magazines or online, who he saw on tv or in movies, that grew tired of each other and needed counseling after a short time. Maybe the love he shared with Joe was purer than theirs, deeper and more meaningful, maybe they were just meant to be together. He believed what he had said about destiny bringing them together, and he knew that destiny had brought him to Joe.

“Do you want to try to sleep a little?” Joe asked and nodded into the direction of the bed, and Nicky returned his nod.

“That would be nice,” he returned and took the robe off, slipping under the soft and cold blankets that smelled fresh and of the detergent they started to use a while ago, flowery and like a spring day. His head hit the down-filled cushions and instinctively he snuggled his face into them, making Joe, still standing by the window, chuckle.

There was a movement behind Nicky, then the mattress moved a little and an arm wrapped itself around his mid.

He turned his head a little and saw how Joe was pressing his face into his neck, sniffing his skin and rubbing his nose against the spot that made him still shiver when being touched there gently.

“You don’t have to go to bed with me if you’re not tired,” Nicky said, and again Joe chuckled.

“We both had a really shitty day,” Joe whispered and pressed a kiss into Nicky’s hair. “We both need to sleep.”

Nicky nodded and took Joe’s hand into his, pressing it against his chest, where Joe spread out his fingers over his heart, feeling Nicky’s heart beat in the same rhythm as his own. Nicky leaned back, shifted a little until their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle, every arch and muscle meant to rest against each other, skin on skin, without the need or desire to do anything but be there for each other tonight. There would be nights and days again, soon, when there was the need for more, maybe tomorrow, maybe in a week. But tonight, NIcolò needed his Yusuf, Joe needed his Nicky, and they needed the comfort that only the other man close to them was able to provide. Nothing else.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

When Nicky woke up, he could not say how late it was, or even which day it was. The only thing he could say was that he missed the warm body next to him that had been there the few times he had awoken in the past hours only to fall back into sleep again. The pillow behind him was cold, so Joe had gotten up a while ago already, and left him to sleep more, sensing that Nicky needed it.

Once when they had been awake at the same time last night, they had a short talk about their fear of losing Andy soon, of not being able to grasp that their oldest friend maybe would soon not be in their lives anymore, and how much it made them feel their own mortality suddenly. Nicky had turned until he was facing Joe and they had kissed for a long time, drinking the other man’s scent and taste, consuming the closeness and intimacy of being together like this. Other than many other nights, it had not to lead to sex, instead of this closeness, this feeling like one soul, one mind, it had still been enough. Both men had cried silent tears, feeling alive and still so vulnerable, so fragile all of a sudden, and Nicky hated to see Joe in pain, just like Joe hated to see him in the same state.

They had fallen again asleep, their limbs tangled, their noses still touching and breathing the other’s breath. Nicky had felt like home in Joe’s arms like he had been for centuries, like he had never felt at home before he had met him. His Joe. His everything.

Sighing, he sat up and rubbed his hair and face, feeling the scruff of his unshaven face under the palm of his hand and he made a mental note that he needed to shave before they left later, even though Joe maybe would oppose since he liked him with a beard, always saying it reminded him of the crusader he met a long time ago, with unkempt hair and a scruffy beard. A remark that made Nicky always roll his eyes at his husband.

Getting up, stretching and yawning, Nicky found a grey t-shirt and black sweat pants in a drawer and put them on, going to search for Joe when he went downstairs but did not find his other half anywhere in the house. The coffee machine in the kitchen though was turned on.

Nicky finally found Joe on the small terrace they had finished remodeling last year, and he stopped in his tracks and had to smile, leaning against the frame of the large gallery doors that lead outside. Joe was busy setting up the round iron table with everything that Joe knew Nicky liked, and even a bouquet of fresh flowers filled a vase.

“Didn’t you say we don’t have any food in the house?” Nicky asked and continued to smile when Joe turned around, obviously not aware that Nicky was watching him, and looked at him in surprise before he returned the smile.

With a few steps, Joe was with him and pulled him into an embrace, kissing him. Joe huffed and pushed him away.

“Morning breath,” he meant.

“Mmmh, I love your morning breath,” Joe winked at him. “And no, we didn’t. I went to get a few things while you were still sleeping. Mrs. Meadows sends her regards. She says she’s happy we are back here.”

“She’s just flirting with you,” Nicky meant with a grin, remembering the grey-haired matron who was always all over Joe whenever he visited her small shop all too well.

“Maybe she is, but she also knows I’m taken, habibi,” Joe gave back. “I’m just done setting the table. I’ll get coffee.”

Nicky nodded and remained standing there while Joe ran back inside and returned a moment later with a coffeepot that he put onto the table where fresh bread, scrambled eggs, smoked salmon and juice were already waiting for them. He looked back at Nicky, and Nicky saw the question in his eyes when he noticed he did not move.

“Did I do something wrong?” Joe asked.

Nicky shook his head.

“Nothing, hayati,” he said and now closed the distance between them. “I love you. I sometimes think I don’t say it often enough.”

“Only every day,” Joe chuckled. “I love you too. Let’s eat? Andy texted me, we meet later in town for...you know what for.”

Nicky again nodded, not liking what they had to discuss, but knowing it was necessary and that he and Joe would not agree on the things that would be said.

“She also wants to visit Copley later, Nile said something about him having followed out lives and she wants to see that.”

Nicky tensed a little at the mention of Copley’s name, as far as he was concerned he was the one who betrayed them just as much as Booker had done, and he would not trust the stranger in a very long time completely.

He drank a bit of coffee and ate a fresh bagel, noticing how Joe was watching him, chewing himself.

“What are you thinking of?” He asked after swallowing.

“I was thinking,” Joe said, voice calm and serious. “That in an ideal world, we could have this every single day. That in an ideal world, we would never have to fear for each other’s safety or life.”

Nicky smiled and gave another nod.

“In an ideal world,” he added to Joe’s words. “I would want nothing but your love, just the way I have your love in this world, even if it’s not as ideal as it could be.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter!  
> https://twitter.com/RisingPhnx1


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